


Innocentia

by SparkBeat



Series: Virgin!Rung [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Eggs, Fingering, Forced Overload, Loss of Virginity, Oral, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing, Temperature Play, Toys, Virgin!Rung, multiple overloads, of the mechanical sort, that are just for play and not at all involving sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:45:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkBeat/pseuds/SparkBeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Super confident, kinky, sexy Rung is all well and good, but what would happen if Drift and Ratchet found out that the Lost Light's beloved therapist is about as innocent as untouched snow? </p><p>Answer : A lot of teasing, then a lot of following through with the teasing. </p><p>(I'm almost as bad at summaries as I am at titles... :D )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Thank you, Swerve. I’ll just go find myself a place to sit now, shall I?” Rung finally found a place to cut off the other mech’s chatter, and jumped in before the opportunity passed. The bartender’s spark was in the right place, but truly, all Rung wanted tonight was to sit down and relax with his energon and people watch.

 

Most of the tables nearest the bar were packed to brimming with bots on their off-shift, chatting and laughing and having a good time. Not wanting to bother any of them to ask that they move aside so he could squeeze in, and not in the mood for the raucous laughter and gossip of overcharged bots anyway, he walked right by those tables. There were a few booths towards the back wall 9 that were out of the way, usually quiet, and had the added bonus of being out of the line of sight of the rest of the bar with little dividers. Swerve had had them installed as a way to give couples on dates a place to relax without everybot watching them, though Ultra Magnus was insisting on cameras to monitor the blind spots for infractions last he heard.

 

For Rung, they were a convenient place to sit and watch bots interacting without being seen. Bots tended to get nervous if they caught him watching them, and he couldn’t blame them. Nobody liked feeling like they were being judged by a therapist, even if that’s not what he was doing.

 

Rounding the edge of the wall, drink in one servo and digging for a datapad in subspace with the other, he wasn’t paying any attention to the occupants of the tables.

 

“C’mon Ratch, you’ve been stressed all week.”

 

Rung looked up, seeing Drift and Ratchet huddled together at a table in the otherwise unoccupied section. Drift was leaning into Ratchet’s side, servos rubbing at his shoulder joints. Ratchet tilted his helm forward as Rung watched, a little moan escaping his vocalizer at the apparently skillful touches. Perhaps he could join them, maybe team up with Drift to convince the medic to take a break to relax. He _had_ been spending quite a lot of time in the med bay recently, thanks to Rodimus’ most recent unscheduled, unplanned pit stop made without Megatron’s input and despite Ultra Magnus’ severe disapproval.

 

“You know what I think would help? Hmm?” Ratchet made a curious little noise in the back of his vocalizer, but said nothing. “How ‘bout we go back to our room, and I’ll lay down on the berth, and you can press your spike down the back of my intake, and frag my face to your spark’s content, hmm?”

 

Rung froze, feeling his face heat up. Gripping his drink tight, he started to back away.

 

“How’s that gonna help me relax if _I’m_ doing all the work, huh?” Ratchet snorted, lifting his helm and making direct optic contact with Rung.

 

 _Slag…_ Rung thought, and spun on his heel, hoping they’d think he was leaving instead of retreating.

 

~~~~~

 

Drift looked up, following Ratchet’s gaze when the cables under his fingers tensed and ruined all his hard work. Rung looked like a turbodeer caught in the headlights, clutching his drink and a datapad to his chest with his face flushed nearly as red as Drift’s paint. Even as they watched, he turned around and started to walk away with his shoulders hunched up near his audials and his antennae slicked back flat.

 

<Mind if he joins us, kid?> Drift grinned, glancing over at Ratchet before standing and rushing after the little therapist.

 

“Hey Rung! Wait up!” He reached out to slap a servo down on Rung’s shoulder, and pulled back when the other bot flinched away. “Sorry, sorry! Come on, sit with us for a bit, you can help me convince Ratchet to relax for five kilks, right?” He steered the protesting bot back to their little space, pushing him into the booth next to Ratchet and sitting in the chair opposite them at the undersized round table.

 

“Oh, well, that’s all very nice of you to offer, Drift, and th-thank you, but um…I forgot something in my office and I should hate to bother you two on your off shift, I know how rarely they coincide anymore.” The little bot was absolutely _adorable_ when he was flustered, and Drift sat on his servos to keep from reaching over and tweaking those quivering little antennae.

 

<You know, he’s re~eally nervous…I didn’t say anything too awful did I?> Drift commed Ratchet, not taking his optics off the stuttering bot between them. Rung had set his drink down, and both servos were now wrapped around the edges of his datapad, holding it in front of his chest like a shield.

 

<Naw…I’ve had my suspicious for a while. Bot never made waves, never wound up the topic of gossip. You know my past->

 

<The Party Ambulance of old? Oh yea…but be honest, you didn’t retire from the title…just tamed it down. A little bit, anyway.> Drift smirked, engine rumbling beneath his armor and making Rung twitch away from him.

 

<Oh shush. What I’m sayin’ is, for as much as I got around, and for the two of us running through most of the same circles, not once did I hear about his berth skills. Not in the academy, not at Deltaraan, not during the war, and not here on the ship.>

 

<You don’t think? Really? As old as he is?>

 

<I’d put shanix on him bein’ untouched, kid.>

 

Rung hadn’t relaxed a single cable while they’d been going back and forth over a private comm line, but still managed to tense further when Drift gave him a once over. When he made to stand up, Drift scooted his chair a little closer, at the same time as Ratchet put a servo on his arm and pulled him back down.

 

“Ratchet, I really should be going!”

 

“Got a question for you first, Rung.” Rung turned to look at the medic questioningly, relaxing a fraction, probably under the assumption it would be work related. Drift leaned in closer, anticipation crackling in his carefully withdrawn field.

 

“We’ve known each other a long time. Not once in all these years have I heard any gossip ‘bout you.”

 

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, Ratchet, I assure you.” Rung laughed uneasily, leaning away from the medic when he shifted closer. Rung’s helm, even with Ratchet seated, didn’t quite make it up to his shoulder, and a quick peek under the table confirmed to Drift that Rung’s pedes didn’t touch the ground. He swallowed a groan at the thought of how small the other bot was, fingers curling under his thighs.

 

“Eh. Point is, bots are notorious gossips, and I’ve not heard word one about you.”

 

“What’s this about, Ratchet? Really, I must insist you make your point so I can leave.” Rung was eyeing Drift over his shoulder, obviously not trusting the speedster to keep his servos to himself. Drift just grinned, trying to channel his inner Wing to appear charming instead of turned on.

 

Probably wasn’t working, judging by the look he was getting.

 

“Rung, you still have your seals, don’t you?” Drift’s engine gave a sharp, uncontrolled rev at the thought given voice, and Rung _jumped_.

 

“ _Ratchet!_ ” He hissed, face flushing redder still and his field flaring with embarrassment and … shame? Drift had scooted in closer as they spoke, and Rung looked between the two of them, pressed in on either side of him without touching, but oh so close. “I hardly see how that’s anybot’s business but mine.”

 

“Easy, Rung, easy.” Ratchet held up his servos, leaning back just a bit without actually moving away from the rapidly heating frame between them, “Just a question, no need to get upset.”

 

Rung didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Drift had opened a comm to maybe suggest they back off on the subject and let Rung walk away if he wanted, when the small bot sighed, a woosh of warm air from his vents that did nothing to dispel the heat rising from his face.

 

“Not that it matters any, but…yes, I-I am.” It was said in a small, soft voice, to a datapad clutched between servos, but they both caught it.

 

“Am what?” Ratchet prompted him, nudging his drink closer in case the bot needed a shot of liquid courage for the conversation.

 

Rung ignored the gesture, still staring at his datapad and chewing on his lower lip. Oh how Drift wanted to pull the lithe little mech into a kiss, draw that bruised lip in between his own, and sooth away the little hurts with his glossa till Rung was moaning into his mouth, mind focused on nothing but the pleasure they could give him.

 

“A v-virgin…” Drift’s engine revved, his chest plate rattling from the strength behind it. Rung jumped again, and Drift was torn between amusement and insult that he was frightening the therapist. It wasn’t like he did it on purpose, and in a roundabout way; it was kind of a compliment. The little bot was _hot,_ in an unassuming, soft-spoken, nerdy sort of way.

 

<I heard that rattle kid, getting you in a med berth in the morning to tighten up that plating.>

 

<Oooh, a med berth. Gonna tie me down and have your way with me, Doctor?> Drift teased, engine idling higher than normal at the thought, and at the bot still stuck between them looking like he’d rather be doing anything else to escape this conversation. Well, hopefully they could turn that around for him real quick.

 

<Yea, sweetspark. Gonna tie you down, and pull off your plating, and do the _maintenance you seem to always fragging forget._ > Despite the grumbling, even over the comm Drift could hear the exasperated fondness in his tone.

 

<Maybe I don’t forget? Maybe it’s just another excuse to get your hot, talented servos on my frame, hmmm? Ever think about that?>

 

Instead of a response, he just got an image of a wrench across the link, and was content to be grateful that he didn’t throw a real one at his helm instead.

 

“You mean you’ve never thought about taking some bot back to your place and fragging their brain module out? Or having them frag yours out?” Drift blurted out.

 

<Also installing a filter on your vocalizer while I’m at it, kid.>

 

“N-no…it’s ha-hardly necessary for day to day fu-function…” Rung reset his vocalizer with an audible click, optics darting back and forth between Ratchet and Drift.

 

Ratchet snorted, rolling his optics. “Scrap. If you’re putting it off because you genuinely don’t feel attracted to anybot you’ve met, or if you think you’re ace, that’s one thing,” Rung and Drift both had a pause while they looked up the alien phrase. Rung arrived at a definition before Drift did, and shook his helm minutely. Drift finally found it packed away in one of his old, long unused human lexicons, and vented a relieved exhale at Rung’s denial of it’s application to him.

 

“Well then, if it’s nerves…well-“

 

“If it’s nerves, you’ve got two very willing bots right here, ready and willing to offer their assistance.” Drift butted in, leaning in a bit more and extending his field just a little bit for Rung to feel the _calm/reassurance/no pressure/desire/admiration_ he pushed into it. He didn’t relax, but he also didn’t pull away or protest. Drift wasn’t taking it as a yes just yet, but he was more than happy to take it as a good sign for later.

 

“It’s…never cr-crossed my m-mind.” The heat in his face had spread, his frame getting increasingly warmer between them. Drift could almost _taste_ the desperation in his poorly concealed field to keep his fans from turning on and drawing attention.

 

“Really? Never wondered what it’d be like?” Drift couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like to not go through the day with thoughts of interface at the back of his processor. Ratchet insisted that Drift was just a horny little fragger, and not everybot was thinking about interfacing all day. Drift had tried to explain to him that it wasn’t _all the time_ , just that any time he saw something attractive, he couldn’t help but wonder. Then Ratchet accused him of finding most _anything_ attractive, and well…he couldn’t really argue with that. He had an appreciation for a wide variety of things, there was no shame in that.

 

“N-no…I have no idea what I’d even d-do. It’s n-never crossed my processor…”

 

<Ratch?>

 

<Yea, kid. Didn’t think he’d be _this_ innocent… >

 

<Very possible he never entertained the idea because people tend to forget about him. Who wants to interface with someone that won’t even get your name right in the moment, let alone remember you the next day…> It was a depressing thought, and despite the lust boiling his lines, he wanted to draw the little mech into his arms and just say his name over and over and over again, to reassure him that not everybody forgot about him. Even if that wasn’t his reasoning for the millions of years of celibacy (and boy didn’t that just send a shudder down his spinal column?) it was still an awful thought, and succeeded in cooling Drift down just a little bit.

 

<You up for showing him the ropes, Drift?>

 

<You know it, Ratch. He says yes, and we’re gonna make damn sure it’s a night _none_ of us forget.>

 

Rung had stayed silent through their exchange, fiddling with the datapad and refusing to make optic contact.

 

“We know what we’d do to you, Rung. Wanna hear?” Drift meant to sound sexy and alluring, but frag all if his fear that the other bot was going to bolt at any moment didn’t bleed through instead.

 

Which became a very real fear when long minutes passed where Rung did nothing but vent, optics shuttered and fingers tapping against the datapad’s screen. They were both on the edge of apologizing for pushing the bot too far when Rung peeked one optic open and shrugged one shoulder.

 

“Um….well, m-maybe….that might be interesting…” The failed act of nonchalance was so adorable. Ratchet and Drift shared a grin over Rung’s head, and both leaned in just a little closer.

 

“Lotta experiences you’ve missed out on that we’d have to make up for, you know. We’d probably have to tie you up-“ Ratchet started, all but whispering it directly into an audio.

 

“Bind you nice and tight, so you can’t squirm your way out once we’ve got our servos on you. Give you a safe word, just in case, but then I’d get down on my knees-“ Drift took over, smiling when Rung twisted to look at him.

 

“Drift looks real good on his knees, Rung, what a sight-“ Ratchet’s engine rumbled at the thought, and Rung put one servo over his mouth, optics shuttering.

 

“I’d tease you till you popped your panel for me. You’re probably sensitive enough that I could just….run my fingers up the insides of those pale thighs and…hmmm….maybe get a few nibbles on heated plating in, before you open up for me.” Rung’s fans came on with a whine and a stutter, blasting them both with overheated air. Drift ran his glossa over his lips, blowing a little exvent across twitching antennae.

 

Rung was looking around; undoubtedly making sure nobody was paying them any attention. The way they were arranged at the little table, pinning the therapist in, even if anyone _could_ see past the divider walls, it would look like the third in command was conversing with a couple members of medical. Especially with the way Rung was clinging to that datapad.

 

“Ratch does this thing with his servos, just…mmmmmh,” His valve was already wet behind his panel, and thinking of the medic’s talented servos made his calipers clench down on nothing. “Maybe he’ll do it to you. Or maybe he’ll do it to me. He likes me on my knees after all. I can tease your valve with my glossa, swallow your spike down while he stretches my valve out with those wonderful servos… _oh_ …they change temperatures, did you know that?”

 

Rung bumped Drift’s thigh as he shifted, crossing his legs and swallowing audibly behind his servo.

 

“N-no I didn’t…um…hrm….continue, please?”

 

“Hehe, well…when we’ve got you all tied up and at our mercy-“

 

“Not a lot, mind you. Maybe just a little cable here,” One of Ratchet’s servos ghosted over Rung’s trembling thigh, not touching, but stirring his field as he passed, “and here,” a not-touch to his arm, “Bind your arms behind your back, your shins to your thighs-“

 

“The torment of not being able to touch. Not being able to grab hold of my helm and guide the pace while you thrust into my intake? Best kind of torture. Except while it’s happening. When it’s happening, you’ll do anything to get free, to get your servos on me.” Drift didn’t realize he could get this charged up just talking about interfacing, but his engine revving in his chassis was proof enough that, apparently, he could.

 

“And of course you can overload whenever you need to-“

 

“Of course! No need for warning, I’ll be able to tell…maybe let me know if you want to overload in my mouth, or on my face though. Your call.” Drift winked at Rung, watching as the datapad was very carefully sat down so he could lean forward and cling to the edge of the table. A quick peek down told Drift all he needed to know. Between clenched thighs, lubricants glistened, beading up and demarcating the near invisible line of his modesty panel. Already, a little bit had pooled beneath his aft, and Drift had a wicked thought about crawling under the table and licking up the mess, sucking off the therapist right there in the bar.

 

Maybe another day.

 

“Drift’s got this toy collection-“ Ratchet had leaned forward on the table with Rung, raising an optical ridge at Drift.

 

“Been building it up for _years_.” He was bragging, no shame what so ever in his voice. It was true, he’d been picking up toys the galaxy over, both ones premade for mechs, and custom orders from absolute _artists_.

 

“No kidding,” Ratchet rolled his optics over Rung’s helm, and Drift stuck out his glossa in retaliation, “ _Anyway_ , he’s got this false spike he loves so much…after I’ve got him all stretched out, I’ll put that in his valve, keep him open and ready for us. Mag lock it so he can’t push it out again. Then we can get started on you-“

 

“Stretch your tight little valve out around Ratchet’s fingers…mmmmhhh, I’ve already got you all nice and relaxed with my glossa, his fingers’ll feel like a gift from Primus, swear-“ Ratchet reached around and pinched Drift’s cheek, snorting at the mention of the deity. Drift would admit it any day of the week, to anyone who asked. Even Ratchet. At least half of the things he said were to get a reaction out of his medic.

 

“Hmmm, well…Primus aside, we’ll get you loosened up, so you can take a nice fat spike-“

 

“Oh yea,” He moaned, sliding down in his seat and spreading his thighs, one knee accidentally brushing up against Rung’s. When he didn’t pull away, Drift grinned. He set his servos on top of his thighs, in sight and away from his panel, just like Ratchet liked. Ratchet sent him an approving look, while Rung stole a quick glance down when he thought they weren’t looking. “Ratch’s spike is _perfect_ , Rung. All these little ridges and charge nodes on it, they hit _every_ spot, he’s got a custom job, just…. _ah_ …”

 

<Laying it on a bit thick there, don’t you think?> The laugh Ratchet was trying to hold back bled through the comm. Drift squirmed in his seat.

 

<Nooo….just _really_ revved up, Ratch. Think he’s gonna come back to our place with us? I could really use a little love right about now… >

 

<Horny little speedster. You know you’ll get yours either way, so just relax.>

 

Even as he was admonishing Drift over the comm line, he was talking to Rung. His own engine was rumbling, a strong, heavy sound deep in his chassis. “Maybe we’ll frag you…maybe we’ll just do you up like Drift, and find a nice little toy to fill you up. Something that vibrates maybe?”

 

“Oooooh, I’ve got just the one! The purple one, Ratch?” The false spike he was thinking of wasn’t anything fancy, just a basic number that he’d gotten a long time ago, one of his first, actually. But it had a little something extra to it, and Ratchet caught on to the idea quick.

 

“Yea, nice settings on that one,” He mused, putting his servos on the table and tapping out a mindless little rhythm, like this wasn’t revving him up into the redline. “Vibrations’ll drive you wild, but it’s the bit at the base that hits your external node _just_ right. Course, it’s got a pretty powerful little motor to it, might knock him right over the edge too quick.”

 

“I’ve got plenty to choose from, I’m sure we’ll find… _something_ …that’ll be a perfect fit.” Rung shuddered, fingers denting the edge of the table as he squirmed. Drift could just imagine the mess he was making. If he stood up right now, he’d bet that sweet little aft would be just _shining_ with lubricants, his thighs coated and his panel dripping. He caught Rung’s optic as he licked his lips again, and made sure the other mech saw as his glossa tripped over one of the fangs he’d kept over from his last rebuild.

 

Rung’s own mouth dropped, optics gone slightly glassy as he sucked in great gulps of air to supplement his cooling systems.

 

“Ooooh, but if his valve’s occupied, what else can we do to him, Ratchet, hmmm?” Rung twisted to look up at Ratchet as expectantly as Drift was, and the medic shifted in his seat, looking caught off guard for the first time since this little conversation started.

 

It didn’t last, Drift hadn’t figured it would. That party ambulance smirk was back in place, and he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Teach him the fine art of using his mouth for something other than talking? Worked wonders on you.” The medic leaned forward again, reaching right past Rung to take Drift’s face in his servo and squish his cheeks in. He gave Drift’s face a little shake, index finger pressing to the corner of his mouth.

 

Drift let his mouth fall open obediently, glossa peeking out. Ratchet pressed his thumb in, flattening his glossa out and holding it there for a klik. When he pulled away, they both noticed how Rung’s optics were locked on the string of oral solvent stretched between them, and the way they followed it back to Ratchet when it snapped.

 

“Oh yea…Rung, you don’t know good till you’ve got someone you trust over top of you. A nice thick spike pressing your glossa down, or, _oh_ …a valve pressed over your intake, just… just all you can see, smell, _taste_ , is them. Your only concern is what’s right in front of you and-“

 

“Oh my!” Rung jumped to his feet, chair sliding back with a screech that probably drew more attention than their entire escapades up until then.

 

He didn’t say a word, hunched over the table, whole frame shaking. His backpack rattled against his plating, the only noise he made besides the whine of his fans. Just like Drift thought, the backs of his thighs and his aft were covered in the glistening pink fluids, and his optics tracked a bead of lubricant that trailed down the back of his leg before guilt caught up to him. Rung _still_ wasn’t saying anything.

 

“Aw slag, Rung. We weren’t trying to pressure you, honest. If you aren’t interested, just say so, and we’ll drop it, no questions asked, promise!” Rung put a finger to his lips, shaking his head and swallowing. He reset his vocalizer twice before the static cleared enough to be heard over the din on the other side of the wall.

 

“Oh n-no…you two will accompany me b-back to your b-b-berth room this instant. You’ve m-made a mess of thinks and I th-think you should be the ones to c-clean it up!”

 

Drift was halfway out of his seat before Rung had finished, pinging Swerve to take care of their tab without having to actually walk up to the bar. Ratchet put a servo on Rung’s shoulder, the first intentional touch either had made towards the therapist all night.

 

“You’re sure bout this, right? Don’t tease an old mech, Rung.”

 

It did the trick, breaking that little shell of tension in Rung’s field as he giggled.

 

“Oh, really, Ratchet! I think I’m older than you, and you’ve done nothing but tease me since I got here!”

 

Drift was practically dancing in place, eager to get back to their room and make good on those promises they’d given Rung. A quick tug had Rung’s chair pulled back further, and he swiped at the mess in the seat before Rung could, then mopped up the puddle of lubricants in his own abandoned chair. He smirked at Ratchet, a little show of fang, when he caught the medic doing the same to his. All that earned him was a rag soaked in lubricant to the face.

 

Once they’d cleaned up to Rung’s satisfaction, and hadn’t he just about lost it when he realized what a mess he’d made of himself, Ratchet led the way out of the bar. Drift felt the nerves that made Rung’s field waver a bit, and caught his servo. A tentative squeeze was his reward, and he smiled down at the smaller mech.

 

Because despite all their talk, their goal was to make the therapist comfortable. He took such good care of everyone else on the ship, it was time to give a little back.

 

That it was going to be _fun_ was just a bonus.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the bravado he’d found at the bar, the closer he got to the command habsuite corridor, the more his tank twisted into knots.

 

He’d gone this long without, what was the point in changing things now? He’d half talked himself into turning around, giving some excuse, and retreating to his own berthroom to cool down when Drift put a servo on his shoulder.

 

“Bout ready to walk right on by the room, Rung. You okay?” Now that they were away from the bar, Drift was very free with his field, and despite the near overwhelming amount of lust that colored it, there was a combination of _concern/care/caution_ was enough to calm the nervous flutter in his spark. Ratchet leaned against the frame of their open door, studying them, waiting.

 

Rung swallowed the oral solvent that had gathered in his mouth, shuttering his optics and venting slowly to gather his thoughts.

 

“Apologies. I…hrm…I’ll admit to quite a bit of nerves right now,” He chuckled, twisting his servos together, “You’ve both been very generous in your de-descriptions of w-what you plan to do. B-but-“

 

“Fear of the unknown?” Drift guessed, the servo on his shoulder kneading at tensors wound tight enough to snap.

 

Rung nodded, helm dropping forward till his chin touched his chest. Oh, but Drift was _very_ good with his servos.

 

“Rung?” He looked up, just as Ratchet straightened from his (admittedly quite attractive) slouch in the doorway, holding out a servo for him. Drift’s fingers had stopped all but the barest of touches, stroking at the energon lines in the back of his neck with a touch so light it caused shivers in his sensor net.

 

Chewing on his lip, he reached out, taking the single step forward to reach out and grab Ratchet’s servo. The medic smiled at him. Not a grin, not a smirk, not that berthside smile reserved for dying bots, but a genuine, honest to Primus smile.

 

“We won’t bite, Rung. You’re in control here.”

 

“Well…I’ll bite, if you ask nicely.” Drift snickered, snapping his dentae together near Rung’s audial. He jumped, twisting to look at Drift over his shoulder. The speedster’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, trying desperately to hold back, laughter? A smile of his own? Either way, his field was still wide open, and thank goodness for it. That honesty was better than anything he could do with his servos to keep him calm in the face of what was quite honestly the most ridiculous situation he’d _ever_ been in.

 

He’d always been such a forgettable bot, for whatever reason, that nobody ever tried to pick him up in a bar before, or ask him out for drinks. (Well…if he was being honest with himself, Froid might have been flirting with him once or twice, but he’d purposefully ignored him. Combination of nerves and a distinct lack of desire to have anything to do with his ‘rival’…)

 

To have not one, but _two_ attractive bots wanting to pay attention to him like this? It was enough to make his processor spin.

 

Ratchet led him in the room, keying the door shut behind Drift. A code popped up on his HUD, twice. Once from Ratchet and once from Drift.

 

“You both…?”

 

They looked at one another and Drift burst out laughing. Ratchet just shook his helm, rolling his optics and smiling rather exasperatedly at the third in command reduced to giggles and snorts leaning against the closed door.

 

“It’s our door code. We don’t want you to feel trapped in here, Rung.” The servo not still holding his own came up to cup the side of his face and tilt him back until he was looking Ratchet in the optics. “Told you, we’re gonna just roll with it. You make the calls. You wanna stop, we stop. You need us to back off so you can think, we will.”

 

“That’s what the safe word’s for.” Drift wheezed, pushing himself up from the door.

 

“I just…I don’t understand, I s-suppose…”

 

“Don’t understand what, sweetspark?” Drift’s servo was back on his neck, massaging away the tension that had drawn his shoulders up to his audials.

 

“Why? W-why me? When you’ve got each other…and, and the possibility of anyone else on the crew if you w-wanted them? I’ve got n-no experience, no idea w-what I’m doing…”

 

“Oh Rung… that’s _not_ a bad thing.” Drift’s servo tugged at his shoulder, guiding him to turn around. Ratchet pressed up against his back, a strong, silent, reassuring presence as Drift leaned over to press a kiss to his forehelm.

 

“No?”

 

“Oh, definitely not. But I want you to pick out your safe word before I explain just how not bad that is, okay?” Drift pulled his servos back, flattening them out against his thighs. Ratchet behind him didn’t move when he explained what they were looking for in a safe word.

 

“Something you wouldn’t normally say, in _any_ situation. Pick two. One for slow down, and one for stop.”

 

“Why not just say slow down or stop?”

 

Drift drew his attention back to him as he removed the swords he carried with him everywhere. He hadn’t known those sheathes _could_ detach without medical assistance.

 

“Because, dear Rung, sometimes, begging is half the fun. This way there’s no confusion. If I say stop in the middle of something, Ratch is going to be confused, because there are a _lot_ of times I say stop. I don’t really mean stop…most of the time. I just like to beg. But if I say Rodion, he knows to back off, stop everything, and let me be. Then we talk about it, figure out what went wrong, what isn’t working, and decide whether to keep going, or call it quits for the cycle.”

 

“Um, can I just have one word? I d-don’t want to get them mixed up.”

 

“We’d prefer you have both, Rung.” Ratchet’s servo touched his chin again, tilting his helm back to look up at him. “If you’ve just got one for stop, you may push yourself past your limits out of fear of using it when you just need a breather, but by not using it you’ve gone right over into a place where you actually do need to _stop_.”

 

In the end, after a good deal of convincing him that he probably wouldn’t mix them up and that they weren’t going to do anything until he had them, he settled on ‘rust sticks’ for slow down, and ‘Ark-1’ for a full out stop.

 

“Good. Now that that’s out of the way,” The grin Drift turned on him this time was absolutely obscene. “We can get back to convincing you how very attractive you are, and how your lack of experience is, in fact, a very. Good. Thing.” His last few words were punctuated with kisses along his cheek guards.

 

He whimpered, helm clanking back against Ratchet’s windshield.

 

“Ru~ung,” Drift said in a sing-song tone, fingers tripping along a seam in his armor down to his hip, “You obviously don’t see how very revved up you’ve got me. Just the thought of being the first ones to see you fall apart in absolute pleasure? It’s got me running up on my redline.” He’d dropped to his knees as he spoke, and Ratchet’s servos came to rest on his hips, thumbs nearly touching at the small of his back. “To be the ones to help you break your factory seals?” A kiss to his hip plating just beside Ratchet’s servo. “To be the first ones to bring you to overload? Again, and again, and again?” Each word was accompanied by a kiss to his plating, travelling towards the center of his pelvic span until Drift’s mouth hovered just above his heated panel.

 

Drift’s words from the bar echoed in his processor, _but then I’d get down on my knees-_ _tease you till you popped your panel for me._

 

But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned up and pressed a kiss to the center of his abdominal plating, and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his face into his plating.

 

Rung exvented heavily, setting one shaking servo on the back of Drift’s helm. For a moment, they stayed like that, Rung leaning against Ratchet and Drift leaning against him.

 

Then Drift popped to his pedes, all energy again, and tugged them both to the large berth pushed up against the far wall.

 

Ratchet settled on the edge of the berth, and Drift pressed up next to him, leaving Rung to stand facing them at a loss.

 

Drift took pity on him after a long moment, grabbing his servo and tugging him towards them. Servos, he wasn’t sure whose, helped him climb up and straddle the speedster. When he was arranged to their liking, with Ratchet’s servos trailing up and down his spinal strut, Drift leaned in to press their lips together and give Rung a thorough education on kissing.

 

Rung couldn’t say how long Drift and Ratchet had sat side by side like that, passing him back and forth between them. They kept him splay legged, straddling the lap of whichever mech had hold of him at the time, kissing him senseless, servos wandering over his plating to pluck and pinch and tease at wire bundles, sensor clusters, transformation seams. Things he’d never thought as being pleasurably sensitive before were suddenly revving him up beyond his wildest imaginings.

 

Drift tugged at him when he and Ratchet broke apart, picking him up and turning him around in Ratchet’s lap so his back was to the medic’s chest. One servo touched the corner of his mouth, wide open and gasping for air.

 

“Hot and bothered’s a good look on you, Rung.” Drift smirked as he sank to his knees on the floor in front of the berth.

 

Ratchet leaned in, peppering kisses along his jaw and down his neck while his servos came around his front to scrape at the glass over his spark chamber.

 

“ _Oh!_ Ratchet!” Rung cried, arching back into the sturdy frame behind him when Ratchet latched onto the side of his neck and nipped and sucked at the sensitive mesh. A light touch on the inside of his thigh pulled his attention away from Ratchet as he reflexively kicked away, unused to any touch but his own on the thin plating.

 

Drift chuckled, leaning in and mouthing at the metal, firming his touches as he traced the seam up to his hip joint. “Told you you’d be sensitive.” And by the pit, he was right. The firmer touches were still near unbearable, and his frame twitched and squirmed without his command to escape from the stimulation. The fingers at his hip joint delved into the gap provided by his position stretched out over Ratchet’s lap, tracing up and down a thick cable just under the surface. Little flickers of charge leapt between the cable and those devilish digits, and Rung couldn’t stop the twitch that pushed his hips up off Ratchet and into that wonderful touch.

 

“C’mon Rung, you gonna make me work for it?” Drift pressed his mouth to Rung’s panel, glossa dragging up one side and then the other to gather up the lubricants that had started to leak out once again. He made a show of holding the pinkish fluid on his tongue for a klik, winking up at them and then swallowing. “Oh, Ratch…you should _taste_ him.”

 

Rung squirmed in Ratchet’s grip, biting down on his lip hard enough now to dent. Ratchet noticed, and grabbed his chin in one servo. He rubbed his thumb against the metal stretched over his dentae oh so softly, a tickle of pressure that had his mouth dropping open.

 

“We wanna hear you, Rung.” Ratchet rumbled, admonishing him even as he rubbed at the little dent he’d put in his lip with a digit suddenly much warmer than before. Despite the reassurance, his blush kicked up a few degrees at the moan bubbling up out of his vocalizer.

 

Drift’s mouth had gotten more insistent on his panel, scraping his sharpened dentae over the enamel just shy of hard enough to sting. Rung bucked up into him, a sharp clang as his plating connected with Drift’s olfactory ridge.

 

“Oh no! D-Drift, I’m so sor-hrmff!” Ratchet cut off his apology by tilting his helm with the servo still on his chin and capturing his lips in a kiss, glossa sneaking in to tease at his. Drift rubbed his cheek against his thigh, smothering a laugh with one servo.

 

Then that devious mouth was back on his plating again, pressing just a little harder this time in retaliation. Between that and the way Ratchet’s servo had wandered from his face to his neck to wrap his fingers around his throat in a loose grip, his panel slid aside with a little click, receeding into it’s housing and exposing his array to someone for the first time since his onlining.

 

Instinct had him trying to close his thighs, despite the dual obstacles of Ratchet’s thighs and Drift’s helm. Drift had anticipated his reaction, and had pressed his servos to the insides of his knee joints, restraining his movements and keeping him spread open for them to admire. Where his legs didn’t work, his servos did, and he’d already pressed both to the front of his pelvic span, optics on the ceiling and his tank a nervous mix of excitement and embarrassment.

 

The medic took hold of both his wrists, and pulled them up to his chest, shifting his grip so both skinny wrists were bound to his own glass with one large servo.

 

“This okay?” Rung nodded, twisting his helm to the side to avoid looking at Drift on his knees between his spread thighs, licking his lips and running his optics over his array.

 

“You look delicious, Rung,” Drift said, leaning in so that exvent blew hot air directly over his valve and spike cover, “Mind if I send an image capture to Ratchet? He’s going to appreciate this.”

 

Rung hesitated for a klik, but Ratchet was CMO and Drift was third in command. They both knew discretion and privacy, and neither one was malicious or cruel enough to circulate such an image to the rest of the crew. He nodded, and nearly instantaneously, Ratchet groaned behind him, engine revving and sending vibrates straight up Rung’s spinal strut.

 

“Ratch loves seeing a valve all nice and wet and shiny for him.” Drift explained as he pressed his mouth into the spot where his thigh met his pelvic joint, wrapping his lips around the edge of the exposed plating and suckling on it with loud, lewd slurps that wound that coil in the pit of his tank tighter. “Drives him wild. And this is just beautiful. Wanna see?”

 

Drift didn’t wait for his response, packing up the image and sending it to his inbox while he went back to work on the slowly desensitizing plating near his array. Rung hesitated for a moment, it just felt so… _filthy_ , to get a picture of his own equipment sent to him. Not that everything else they were doing wasn’t.

 

The image Drift had sent him was a close up of his own valve, the thick lips flushed and shining with a liberal coating of glossy pink lubricant. In the top of the picture he could just see the glow of his anterior node and a hint of his spike housing. His fan speed went up a notch, and he swallowed, tilting his helm back when his throat pressed against Ratchet’s servo still on his throat. That grip had tightened a bit when Ratchet received the image transfer, and now it loosened again with an apologetic stroke of fingers. Rung wouldn’t admit it if asked, but he did regret the loss of pressure.

 

Ratchet noticed, anyway, and chuckled against his audial.

 

“I think he likes this, Drift.” Ratchet said conversationally, tightening his hold just a little bit, just enough for Rung to feel the pressure of his servo again. He let his helm drop back against Ratchet’s chest with a clank of metal on glass.

 

“Do you, Rung?” Drift asked, placing an open mouthed kiss over his node and suckling on the little bundle of sensors. Rung bit his lip again, trying desperately to not start babbling like a fool. Ratchet’s engine rumbled against his back again, the fingers around his neck pressing at spots under his jaw that made him see stars.

 

Drift pulled off of his node with a little pop, his hips jerking at the release and the influx of relatively cool air against damp, overly sensitive protomesh.

 

“Rung?”

 

“Yes! Oh sweet _Primus, yes!_ Please don’t stop, please-“ Drift cut off his begging with another kiss to his array, looking up from underneath his crest to catch Rung’s optics.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetspark.”

 

Rung was gasping and tilting his hips up, begging for, well, he didn’t really know what he was asking for. Drift did, though, and licked a long stripe up his valve, dipping between the lips and pressing just inside the rim.

 

Rung’s fans shrieked, and someone whimpered. Maybe him. Probably him. He tried to grab hold of Drift’s helm, but Ratchet’s grip on his wrists was solid, and so he had to settle for pushing his hips up against that brilliant mouth. Drift’s servos slid under his thighs to cup his aft, lifting him just a little further up off Ratchet’s lap so he was leaning back heavily against the medic’s frame while Drift’s glossa lapped up the lubricants he could feel trickling out of his valve and running down his aft.

 

“Look at him Rung, isn’t he just perfect down there? On his knees, completely focused on making you overload? That’s his entire concern right now, your pleasure. Nothing else in the ‘verse matters to him when he’s like this.” Ratchet’s voice was hoarser than normal when he spoke, pulling Rung’s helm back to rest against his shoulder by the grip he had on his neck. Rung just nodded, optics shuttering at the feel of that solid servo, an unmoving band constricting his cabling just enough.

 

“I wonder…what it is you like about this,” He continued, flexing his fingers for emphasis on just what it was he was thinking about, “Is it the restriction? Could we put a collar on you, tight enough you’d never be able to forget it’s there? Or is it that you enjoy when I do this?” Another squeeze, and the very temporary disruption to the flow of fluids in his lines made his processor dizzy. He twitched between them, moaning and incoherent as Drift’s glossa pressed into his valve, touching at sensors that had never been played with before.

 

“Maybe another time.” Ratchet chuckled, grip relaxing and fingers smoothing over the heated surface. “Something to talk about later.”

 

Rung didn’t know how he felt about the fact that he wanted to beg for him to do all that _now_ , to tie him up, use him, do _something_. He was grateful for the choice being taken away from him, and the promise of ‘later’, and intended to say so, but Drift had lowered him back down to the medic’s lap with his glossa still buried in his valve, nasal ridge rubbing against his node and sending flickers of charge branching off into his extremities and making him twitch restlessly. One freed servo traced up to tease at his valve, stroking along the outer edges of his lips and smearing lubricant with a light touch that tickled as much as it aroused.

 

When one digit pressed in alongside his glossa, Rung shouted. The pressure on those sensors was suddenly firm and solid where his glossa had been light and teasing. Drift leaned back to look at him, tapping at nodes and grinning at the way his hips stuttered into the touch.

 

Then his mouth was pressing down on his spike cover, glossa tracing the seams of the irising plates and humming when they recessed. His mind was a jumble, hazed over with a fog of pleasure that kept his fans screaming and his frame hot. Something twinged in his array, and then Drift was swallowing down around his spike, exposed to the air for the first time for less than a klik before it was nudging at the back of the speedster’s intake.

 

Ratchet, noticing his wince at the twinge of not quite pain, removed his servo from his throat and trailed it down to stroke at the base of his spike.

 

“Just your spike seal, Rung. Over and done with, and wasn’t that a nice way to do it, straight up into this kinky little fragger’s intake?” Rung dared a look down and tried to fight back the ridiculous sob that had lodged in his throat at the sight of Drift, optics bright and lips stretched around his spike, drool running down his chin and Rung’s spike both as he bobbed his helm. Ratchet’s fingers were curled around the base, and he could see the way little torn bits of metalmesh folded back out of the way underneath his servo.

 

“Oh- _oh_ Drift!” The coil in his tank was wound down tight now, and the strange feeling of charge in his legs and hips was building. Drift took it as a cue to hollow his cheeks and _suck_ , glossa teasing at the tip of his spike every time he withdrew.

 

“Mouth, or face, Rung?” Ratchet repeated the question when Rung just rolled his helm back to look up at him questioningly, gasping and moaning, glasses fogging from the heat.

 

“I-I don’t know, Idon’t _care_ just _p-please_ don’t stop!” Drift hummed around his spike, and the vibrations pushed him straight over the edge, the charge in his limbs racing inwards to his tank. He sobbed, arching up off Ratchet and overloading into Drift’s mouth with a hoarse shout.

 

When he onlined, his chronometer told him that he’d been out for a little bit, and he’d been moved so he was curled up at the top of the berth. He’d been laid on his side with his back pressed to the wall so that when his optics rebooted he was staring directly at Drift on his servos and knees. Ratchet knelt behind him, one servo tangled in the attachment strips of Drift’s chest plate, pulling so his back arched sharply and his hips tilted, his aft pushing up into Ratchet’s other servo.

 

Looking down at himself, the blush that had dispersed as he rebooted came rushing back. His array was a mess of pink lubricant, silvery transfluid, and a clear sheen of Drift’s drying oral fluids. The little ring of mesh was gone, probably removed by Ratchet before they’d relocated.

 

“C’mere Rung, think I could use a second opinion on this.” Drift snorted, giggling as he locked optics with Rung and winked. A loud clang accompanied the servo that swatted at Drift’s aft, and Rung caught just a glimpse of the pleasure on Drift’s face, optics fluttering shut and mouth dropping open before the pressure on his collar fairings was shifted from a pull to a push, shoving his face down into the covers to muffle the noise.

 

He shuffled around Drift’s side on his knees, hesitantly putting a servo on his curved spinal strut to steady himself. Ratchet had shifted the servo on Drift’s collar to the small of his back, a steady reminder for Drift to stay put, and his other servo was pressing at the end of a false spike that spread his valve lips wide and buzzed erratically.

 

“You okay?” Rung blinked at the sudden question, and after checking his self-diagnostic, nodded.

 

“I’m feeling wonderful, D-doctor. I do hope you plan on following through with the rest of your treatment plan though.” His blush intensified at the ridiculous statement, and Drift’s shoulders shook with the laughter muffled by berth covers.

 

Ratchet snorted, swatting Drift’s aft again before reaching out and pulling Rung in.

 

“You know I insist on nothing but the best for my patients.” Even Ratchet was smiling at the goofy statement, and if they could laugh in the middle of interface, why couldn’t he? Some of the embarrassment subsided as he giggled, tilting his helm up in a wordless request for a kiss that Ratchet was more than happy to give.

 

Drift’s laughter turned to moans beneath them as Ratchet’s servos both came up to cup Rung’s face, quite unhappy with the sudden lack of attention.

 

When he pulled back, Ratchet guided one of Rung’s servos to the toy filling Drift’s valve, encouraging him to press on the base, pushing the toy in a bit further. Drift’s back arched, helm rising up out of the covers as he moaned, hips pushing back into Rung’s servo and sending little frissions of heat straight into his own array. Feeling emboldened by the response, Rung leaned in and hesitantly licked at the dribble of lubricant that escaped around the false spike.

 

“Oh slag!” Drift whined, fisting the covers and dropping his helm down on his forearms.

 

“Roll over, Drift, and keep your servos up.” Ratchet tapped at his side, and Rung sat back while the speedster shakily pushed himself over, flopping down with his servos tangled in the sheets above his helm and his legs spread wide on either side of them. Rung was marveling at the bot’s flexibility, the way his thighs gaped at the joint from the stretch, when Ratchet led his servo to the red and white enameled spike rising up over Drift’s belly and already leaking transfluid.

 

“Fair warning, he’s gonna loose every bit of restraint on his vocalizer he’s tricked us into thinking he’s got, before too long.” Ratchet accompanied the warning with a servo digging into Drift’s hip and tweaking something that had him arching up off the berth and sobbing.

 

“Ah…slag, c’mon guys. Gimme _something_ , please? Anything…” Like it’d been a permission, Ratchet’s words had triggered a flood of pleas from Drift’s vocalizer, and his hips shifted restlessly under Rung’s servo.

 

He stretched out at Ratchet’s wordless instruction, following the pull of the servos on his hips till he was bent forward over Drift, knees spread wide and valve on display for the larger mech at his back.

 

“Oh that’s nice…and it’s all mine to play with…” Rung squeaked, jumping when a warm digit pressed in, tugging down on the rim and stretching the little interlocking plates. Trying to regain his attention, Drift pushed up and rubbed his spike against Rung’s cheek in a wordless, gasping plea.

 

His concentration was shot, long gone while Ratchet stroked just inside the rim of his valve, igniting never used sensors but not going far enough in to get caught by his calipers. The distraction of that new, strange liquid heat pooling low in his hips made it easy for him to shut off the part of his processor that questioned his own abilities as he stretched his lips over the head of Drift’s spike.

 

“ _Ah!_ Mind the teeth, please? _Oh slag_ , yes! Hng…just like that, sweetspark, oh fr- oh you’re a natural…” The praise went straight to the rebuilding charge in his tank, and he took as much of the spike as he could into his mouth to a litany of pleas and wordless moans. Ratchet had been right, it was like a switch had been flipped and Drift’s vocalizer was running a mile a minute.

 

Drift bucked up, his spike knocking at the back of Rung’s intake. He pulled off with a cough and a splutter, wiping at the drool that had streaked down his chin and pulling off his glasses to wipe at the cleanser pooling in his optics.

 

“Slag, I’m sorry Rung, I’m so sorry, please don’t stop, I swear I won’t do it again, _please.”_

Ratchet reached around and snagged his glasses, subspacing them before Rung could think of protesting, and twisted the two fingers that had somehow found their way into his valve while he was busy with Drift.

 

One look at Drift’s pleading face, and he leaned in, swallowed his spike, and pushed down on his hips with both servos when they started raising off the berth.

 

Another sharp twinge, this one deep in his valve, and Ratchet leaned forward with a little band of metal on his index finger like a ring. Rung stared at it, at the thing that had been inside of him worn like a trophy, dripping lubricant onto Drift’s belly as he whined and squirmed beneath them.

 

<Still okay?>

 

Rung blinked, and Ratchet flicked the little bit of metal and mesh away with an expert twist of his wrist. Rung didn’t see where it went, and didn’t really care as he pulled off Drift’s spike to lick at the pink stained finger. He wrapped one servo around Drift when he started to whine again, gliding up and down the shaft with an ease brought about by copious amounts of fluid smeared over the plating.

 

<It…it didn’t hurt?> He wasn’t sure what to think, he’d heard so many stories over the years from patients that had led him to believe it would be a painful act, one to suffer through for the sake of pleasure later. The twinge he’d felt had been _nothing_ compared to what he had expected.

 

<Course it didn’t…Ratchet’s the best! Now please Rung, please, make me overload?>

 

Ratchet rolled his optics, pulling his finger free with a pop and pressing it back into Rung’s valve.

 

<I’m a medic, you horny little twit. I just so happen to know better than to shove my spike into a virgin valve and hope for the best.> He punctuated the statement with a second finger, scissoring them open and admiring the little bit of gap he already had between them.

 

<The torn mesh can be irritating for both partners, and the ring isn’t sharp, but it is fairly inflexible. Lot of the stories of pain during a first time are because some idiot thought it best to just jump right on in, and broke the ring from its weld points and shoved it up further into the bot’s valve. Get a partner revved up, get them nice and wet and pliant, and it’s a simple matter to pop it free with little to no pain.>

 

His free servo rubbed over Rung’s hip plating as he explained, and Rung hoped there wouldn’t be a test later. He could fully admit to paying very little attention to the medic’s explanation as those fingers in his valve stretched and flexed against more new sensors and teased them with little temperature variations just as Drift had promised.

 

<Whatever, just…c’mon Rung, make me overload, please? _Oh!_ Heh…you’re so good at this….please? Just a little more? You don’t have to swallow, I’ll let you know when I’m close…I’ll make a mess of myself if you want, you’ll see. Just please please please….whatever you want, it’s yours, just- > Ratchet reached between them, flicking at the toy in his valve, and the buzzing increased sharply. The new, stronger vibrations travelling through Drift’s armor and up into Rung’s servos, pulsing in random patterns as the motor in the toy stopped and started and revved up and down. The speedster squealed, armor clamping down tight to his protoform as his hips shot up off the berth.

 

Rung was grateful for the distraction it gave Drift not a klik later, as Ratchet pressed a third finger in. The stretch on its own was enough to draw him away from his concentration, but the thumb that pressed into his external node, rubbing firm little circles into the sensor laden nub had him sprawling strutlessly over Drift’s frame with one servo stretched over his helm to paw at Drift’s chest and the other still playing with his spike.

 

“Well, isn’t this just a lovely little present?” Ratchet said, and Rung could just _hear_ the lewd smirk in his voice as he palmed Rung’s aft, fingers teasing the already stretched rim. The fingers in his valve opened, stretching further still, further than he’d have thought possible, and one of the fingers of his free servo hooked in to tug again at his rim, short little pulses that had him tilting his helm up, clawing now at Drift and begging for Ratchet to do something, _anything_.

 

Speaking of Drift, the swordsmech had gained enough clarity to drop his servos to Rung’s helm, tentatively pressing down until Rung got the hint and opened his mouth for Drift to press his spike in again, thrusting in sharp little bursts that tickled the back of his intake but didn’t press too far.

 

Ratchet’s thumb on his external node had become warmer and _oh_ …Drift hadn’t mentioned the vibrations. The tight warmth that had been gathering in his hips suddenly released, and he moaned around the spike in his mouth, optics fritzing and flaring through an overload that felt so good but so _different_ from the first one.

 

“ _Rung!”_ Drift pushed him off his spike at the last minute, transfluid painting his own chest and belly as he gasped and whined through an overload of his own, fingers twitching against Rung’s audials.

 

Rung slumped over Drift, fans running full out and screaming for air. He found that he didn’t even mind the mess he made as he smeared transfluid over his chest and cheek. Drift squirmed under him, the toy still buzzing loudly in his valve and his spike already hardening between their frames again. He pressed down, moaning at the feel of the spike sliding against the crease of his thigh, transfluid and his own smeared lubricants making for a smooth surface for Drift to rut against. Drift reached down to grab Rung’s aft in both servos, pulling their frames tightly together and sliding through the mess of fluids with a frame reverberating groan.

 

So it was a complete surprise when Ratchet pulled him up and away, grabbing the red and white striped spike in a firm, almost but not quite painful looking grip. Drift only whined, pouting up at them, face and finials flushed and plating covered in a light sheen of coolant and condensation.

 

“Told ya to keep your servos up, didn’t I?” Ratchet sighed, letting go of Drift’s spike in favor of Rung’s, which had become achingly hard again, and jutted up against his belly, leaking little beads of pre-transfluid.

 

“C’mon Ratch! Take the toy out and frag me already!” Drift ignored the question, writhing in the sheets and doing his best to make a tempting picture for the two mechs kneeling between his legs. Ratchet ignored him, starting a slow, steady pace pumping up and down Rung’s spike. On his knees as he was, back arched with Ratchet’s servo on his chest pressing his shoulders back against the broad medic’s frame, he couldn’t do anything more than grab Ratchet’s thighs for balance and stare down at Drift while he gasped for air to supplement his cooling system.

 

“Ratchet, please!” Drift’s servos had gone back to gripping the sheets above his helm as he arched up off the berth, giving them both a good view of how his valve was clenching down around the toy, and the way that not only his valve was slick and wet, shining in the reflection of their biolights, but how it had pooled underneath his hips, giving his thighs and aft a sheen in the low lighting and soaking into the covers.

 

“What do you think, Rung? Want to slide inside his nice, wet valve, frag him till his vocalizer shorts?” He accompanied the question with a twist of his servo at the top of his spike, and Rung’s fans stuttered. “Or…do you want me to frag you? Hold you down and stretch your tight little valve out around my spike, make you beg for overload? Hmmm?”

 

Drift’s whines rose in pitch as Ratchet spoke, and Rung was _shaking_ , legs ready to give out under his weight as each word sent a jolt of charge racing along his sensor net. He was almost certain his processor had shorted out somewhere along the line. It could be the only explanation for why he blurted out “W-why not b-both?” Twin engines revved sharply, one high pitched and one low and rough.

 

“Oh _slag!_ Please, _please?_ Ratchet?” Drift said, accompanied by a ripping sound as the cover in his servos finally gave in to the abuse and tore in two.

 

“Heh, you heard the bot.” Ratchet wasted no time in shuffling Rung forward on his knees, instructing him to turn off the toy and toss it to the side.

 

“We’ll clean it up later.” He said, enjoying the flash of lust the twisted up Rung’s face and field both as he pulled the toy free, admiring the flex and stretch of Drift’s valve and the swollen, flushed white lips that parted around the toy on its way out.

 

As soon as Rung had carefully placed the no longer buzzing spike off to the edge of the berth, Ratchet guided him into the waiting valve with one servo on his hip and the other still wrapped around his spike.

Now he knew why Drift had been so unable to understand his celibacy. Why other bots ranted and raved about their conquests over engex at the bars. Despite being larger than Rung, Drift’s narrow waist and pelvic span made for a tight fit, and the warm wet press of pleated mesh and grip of cycling calipers had him pausing and exventing to try and regain some form of focus. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to fall off the edge, but he wasn’t ready to overload yet.

 

Ratchet seemed intent on breaking his hard won threads of concentration though, fingers back at his valve, testing the stretch with two fingers. His thumb found its way back to his anterior node, and suddenly it was much easier to concentrate on something other than the imminence of overload.

 

He twitched forward, hips clanging against Drift’s as he fully seated himself in his valve, trying to escape the decidedly _not_ pleasant sensation. Ratchet followed him forward though, still touching the aching nub with a firm pressure that bordered on pain and confused his sensor net.

 

“Ra- _ah-_ atchet!” The touch continued, sped up a bit even, and Rung dropped down to his elbows, face hovering over the overlapping plates of Drift’s midsection. “Ratchet, slag, rust sticks, p-please, _stop_.”

 

Immediately, everything withdrew. Ratchet’s servos, both their fields. Drift froze under him, the safe word as effective as a bucket of cold solvent to tamp down on the haze of lust in his processor.

 

“Rung?”

 

“Slow down, right? I didn’t mean stop, I just…it…that didn’t feel so good?” Rung buried his face in Drift’s armor, not wanting to see their faces, not having any sort of cues on what they were thinking with their fields pulled away.

 

“What didn’t feel good, Rung?” It was Drift asking the question, not Ratchet, and tilting his helm up with one servo so he met worried blue optics and a reassuring smile. Ratchet’s servos returned, stroking along his back in a motion meant to soothe, not entice, waiting for his response.

 

“My…uh…that is t-to say…what you were doing with m-my v-valve, that was, that was fine.” He flushed again, and by this point he doubted he’d ever return to a normal temperature or color in his lifetime. Ratchet made an understanding noise behind him, leaning over his back and pressing a chaste kiss to his audial.

 

“Your node’s sensitive?” He guessed, and Rung nodded miserably, antennae drooping.

 

“I’m sorry-“

“Pit, don’t be sorry, Rung! It happens all the time!” Drift interrupted, tugging his face up again and washing over Rung with a field full of reassurance. Ratchet’s joined in, all but drowning him in the feeling.

 

“Do you want to continue? I won’t touch your node again unless you ask, and we can still do plenty without it. If not, we can stop. You’re still in control here, Rung.” Ratchet said, reminding him of the promise they’d made when they started.

 

Rung really _didn’t_ want to stop though, and told them as much with a minimal amount of stuttering. Drift laughed, wrapping his arms around Rung’s neck and dragging him in for a sloppy kiss.

 

Behind him, he heard the click of a panel retracting, and then the blunt pressure of Ratchet’s spike pressing against his valve. Suddenly, he was questioning his choice. Ratchet felt _huge_ , much larger than Drift, and he couldn’t be sure how much was skewed perspective because of their difference in frame size and the fact that he hadn’t seen Ratchet’s spike yet, and how much was actual size difference.

 

Drift reached down between them, spreading his own valve lips with his fingers and teasing at the base of Rung’s spike. The touch distracted him; his frame relaxed, and Ratchet took the opportunity presented to carefully press inside.

 

If Rung thought he was big before…oh, the way his rim stretched around the flared head, he thought for a moment that there was no way this would work, and almost said something when Ratchet thrust in with a groan, the widest part of his spike clearing the rim and nudging up against a sensor at the top of his valve that had him seeing stars behind his optics. He let his helm drop, hanging between his shoulders, and watched as his plating distended ever so slightly around the cradle of his hips, everything stretching and moving aside to make way for Ratchet's girth. The sight sent shivers up his spinal strut, and he gasped for air, feeling the oral fluids trickling down the side of his mouth and unable to bother to wipe them away or even really care about them by this point.

 

The burn of his valve rim faded, a low ache that was drowned out by the full pressure that stretched his calipers wide and pressed against every sensor packed cluster he had. Something heated, a line of electric fire playing with certain nodes in a wandering line, and his optics flared white.

 

“Copper conducts so nicely, doesn’t it?” Drift asked, as calmly as if they were talking over energon, and not currently all three bound together in a tangle of limbs and overtaxed fans and wide open vents.

 

“His spike?”

 

“No, not all of it. That’d be…overwhelming- _ah!_ ” Ratchet had pulled out and thrust back in, a steady slide and drag over his sensors, and the motion transferred into Rung, who pressed further into Drift and hit a sensor that made him arch his spinal strut and groan.

 

“Lines of it, broken along the seam lines.” Ratchet took over the explanation, ending the sentence with another slow thrust of his hips, fingers flexing around Rung’s waist.

 

Drift opened his mouth to say something, but Ratchet had apparently decided the time for talking was over, and sped up the pace of his hips, snapping forward and hitting that node and making Rung whimper. The medic leaned over, one servo on the berth next to Rung’s, the other hauling one of Drift’s legs up to wrap around his waist, trapping Rung even more effectively between them and changing the angle of Drift’s valve.

 

Lips closed around the tip of one of his antennae, suckling at the little bit of flexible metal and teasing with the scrape of dentae. Servos played with the seams of his armor, scraping over glass and pulling at cables. The spike in his valve was relentless now, heating sensors and pressing at that one at the top of his valve and reducing him to a babbling mess between them. Drift’s valve was grasping at his own spike in a spasm of calipers, almost refusing to let him go every time he tried to pull out and take part in the rhythm Ratchet set.

 

Then Ratchet’s spike shifted, plates flaring and expanding in his valve with a further stretch of his calipers that sent him shouting into overload. He fell forward, arms giving out under his weight and the force of Ratchet’s thrusts as he sped up, chasing his own overload. Beneath him, Drift bucked up and shouted, valve clenching down on his spike and pulling the last bits of charge from him, the speedsters spike trapped between their frames twitching as transfluid filled gaps and seams.

 

Ratchet overloaded with a snarl of his engine, transfluid hot in his valve, and another, smaller overload in his valve nearly knocked him offline. Ratchet rolled over onto his side, engine rough as it idled down, all three of them ticking and pinging as metal started to cool now that more surface area could breath.

 

“What…what _was_ that?” Rung swung a servo out, lazily pointing in the direction he assumed Ratchet’s spike lay. Drift giggled and snorted, covering his face with both servos and whole frame shaking. Rung wanted to feel insulted, expected to, but was pleasantly surprised when he just joined the laughter instead, hiding his face in Drift’s side again and giggling uncontrollably.

 

When they’d both finally gotten their giggles under control and Drift was mostly silent save for a few snorts here and there, Rung pulled away with a grimace at the sticky mess stringing between them from the bottom of his spark glass to the tops of his thighs.

 

Ratchet waited until Rung was looking at him before showing him his limp spike, and the bits of black protomesh between the plates. Copper lines traced up the shaft in little curlicues, always coming back to connect with the next at the points the plates attached. Up close, he could see that the plates swiveled out on little connection points, and Ratchet explained how the mesh between could swell, pressing the plates out and making a relatively smooth spike bulbous.

 

“It’s a good way to surprise your partner, if you can control it well and do it at random intervals.” Ratchet said, tapping at Drift’s thigh and passing him a cloth from subspace.

 

Drift and Ratchet had both been cleaning their frames off as he spoke, but no cloth was offered to Rung. He’d just opened one of his panels to grab one of his own when Ratchet gently pushed him back to lay next to Drift on the berth. Drift had rolled over on his side, and drew him into a lazy kiss while his servos rubbed at joints, easing any kinks or pinched lines he found. He twitched away when Ratchet touched his array, but Drift guided him back to the kiss while Ratchet cleaned him up with careful, gentle strokes of a soft cloth he couldn’t imagine had been appropriated from the coarse supply in the medical wing.

 

Once he was cleaned to their satisfaction, Ratchet wedged himself in behind Rung, back to the wall, and pulled him into a hug, extending it to wrap an arm around Drift when the speedster burrowed in behind him.

 

He was trapped, completely covered on both sides, and despite the heat that still lingered at extremely high temperatures between them, he felt comfortable and safe in the tight little space. He wormed the arm he was laying on into the gap between Drift’s waist and the berth, hugging the other mech, and his free servo reached up to grasp on to Ratchet’s forearm, completing the circle of contact.

 

He waited until they’d both relaxed into the snuggles, and fans had slowed down to something less than deafening before speaking.

 

“You know, you didn’t follow through with everything you said you’d do.”

 

“No?” Ratchet’s voice was tinged with sleep, half in recharge by the time he’d spoken up.

 

“I distinctly remember a promise of tying me up so I couldn’t ‘squirm away’?” Rung chewed on his lip as they couldn’t either of them see it the way they had him bundled up between them, wondering if now would be when they break it to him that it was a fun fling, but they didn’t need a repeat performance.

 

“Do you?” Ratchet had woken up a bit, and the smile in his voice was genuine, bolstering Rung’s waning confidence.

 

“I do…I believe your treatment is perhaps not quite finished?”

 

Ratchet laughed against his back, frame shaking as he tucked Rung’s helm in under his chin and kissed Drift’s crest as the speedster snickered and kissed Rung’s olfactory ridge.

 

“Well, we’ll have to do a consult on further treatment plans then, won’t we, doctor?”

 

“That we will, doctor. That we will.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with this chapter, but I've been working on it for _weeks_. So here it is, in all it's random glory. Quite a few kinks in this chapter were inspired by a wonderful night's posts by [Ceryskitty](http://www.ceryskitty.tumblr.com). Here's the [original post](http://the-sparkbeat.tumblr.com/post/124089932603/so-ceryskitty-posted-just-the-most-amazing-things) that kind of inspired this chapter.

“You sure ‘bout this, Rung? You can say no, you know.”

 

“Ratchet, honestly! I’m the one who asked for it! And yes, I’m sure. Drift always looks like he has so much fun!” And it was true. After that first night, they’d slowly introduced him to more and more of the sort of games they liked to play in the berth. He’d noticed that Ratchet had been very forceful with Drift, even when they’d been focused on making his first time memorable. And the more they showed him, the more it made sense.

 

And he craved that sort of bliss that Drift all but lived in, in the berth.

 

It had taken him a while to work up the nerve to ask, though. He’d been content enough to watch, to help Ratchet, to let them do as they pleased. But every time Ratchet wrapped a servo around his throat it strengthened his resolve further.

That’s how he wound up where he was, with his arms secured wrist to elbow behind his back, and his legs bound together not with the loops of cable that would press his shins to his thighs as Ratchet had originally promised in Swerve’s, but with a spreader bar cuffed to his ankles. Ratchet knelt in front of him, fans already running on a low speed, with a collar in his servos that they’d had made just the other day on a planet side stop.

 

Rung tilted his helm up, baring the sensitive cables of his throat. Ratchet leaned in, securing the collar behind his helm and checking how tight it was by fitting a finger between the supple leather and his throat and stroking along the thin metal.

 

“You remember your safe words?”

 

“I do. Rust sticks and Ark-1.”

 

“And if your mouth is full?” Ratchet pressed two fingers into his open mouth, pressing down against his glossa and smirking at him.

 

Rung refrained from rolling his optics, but just barely. He contented himself with suckling on the digits while he rebooted his bio-lights, twice for slow down and three times for stop.

 

“Very good.” Ratchet pulled his servo away, wiping the smear of oral lubricants on Rung’s spark glass while he clipped a leash to his collar with his free servo. Tugging on the leash, he led Rung over to where Drift waited on his knees, bound and gagged. The speedster was already drooling, and his valve, held open by the clamps Ratchet had so carefully applied earlier, was flushed and leaking. Lubricant dripped from his valve, ran down his thighs, all to gather in a steadily growing little puddle between his knees.

 

Rung shuffled along as fast as he could with his legs spread as they were, and stood where Ratchet pointed while the medic reached down for Drift’s leash. He pulled on the thin strap connected to Drift’s collar, and the speedster was quick to react, crawling over to kneel in front of the therapist. Rung moaned, the sight of Drift on his knees, lips spread wide around the metal ring in his mouth, drool running down the corners of his lips to drip from his chin, it made his spike pulse.

 

“Drift.” Ratchet didn’t need to say anything else, Drift already leaning in and taking Rung’s spike into his mouth. Rung’s knees shook, and Ratchet’s servos on his waist, the large frame pressed up against his back were probably the only reason he didn’t drop to his knees. His charge was already so ramped up, just from the long drawn out teasing touches when Ratchet bound them, that the wet heat suddenly surrounding his spike was almost too much.

 

“Look at him Rung. Isn’t that just the best look for him? Drooling all over your spike?” Rung peeked down, and whined. Just as Ratchet said, Drift was a vision, on his knees, bobbing his helm, obscene slurping sounds as he tried and failed to control the oral solvent spilling over his lips and running down his chin and Rung’s spike both.

 

“Don’t you dare overload, Rung. We’ve got all night still.” Ratchet’s servos around his waist tightened in warning, but Rung couldn’t imagine how he could possibly stave off the pending burst of charge, not with what he was confronted with. His hips started to twitch, completely out of his control, and he offlined his optics, trying desperately to focus on his venting, on the pressure of Ratchet’s servos, _anything_ to distract him from the processor numbing pleasure Drift was giving him.

 

“Ra- _aah-_ atchet! _Please,_ please I can’t…” Rung gasped, swallowing the lubricants pooling in his mouth and trying desperately to suck in cool air.

 

Ratchet clucked disappointingly in his audial, fingers stroking along sensitive seam lines and plucking at wires.

 

“You know I’ll have to punish you if you disobey, Rung. You don’t want to make me have to punish you, do you?”

 

“No, no, please, Ratchet, _please-_ “ Rung sobbed, trying to pull away from Drift even as an overload ripped through his system, charge dispelling in Drift’s intake and knocking the mech’s optical and audial sensors temporarily offline with a dimming of his optics.

 

“Go to the berth. Optics on the back wall. Understood?” Ratchet’s tone was gentle even as his servos were not, spinning him around to face the berth and swatting at his aft.

 

“Y-yes sir, I’m sorry, Ratchet, I-“

 

“Not another sound out of you till I say. I’m going to deal with Drift, then we’ll get to your punishment.” Another swat, another clang of metal on metal, and he wobbled as he moved slowly, cautiously, across the room.

 

Behind him, he heard the sound of a buckle being undone, and Drift’s gasp, the creak as he worked his jaw, then the sound of something sliding into his mouth. He sounded like he was choking, wet, gurgling sounds that Rung assumed Ratchet wasn’t worried about, but still.

 

“Ratchet?”

 

"You're just as bad as Drift, you know that?" He grabbed hold of Rungs shoulder as he walked past, dropping heavily to the edge of the berth and pulling Rung down to lay across his lap, palming the warm metal of his aft. Rung shivered, squirming in the medic's grip.

 

"You want to talk instead of focusing on obeying an order, then you might as well keep count for me. After every strike. I'm thinking ten will remind you how to follow orders, what do you think?" When Rung said nothing, Ratchet raised his servo, drawing out the quiet as Rung tensed, bracing for the anticipated strike.

 

It landed square across his aft, Ratchet’s servo large enough to cover his entire backside. The shock was worse than the sting. His fingers flexed and curled into fists as he shifted.

 

"One." This wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. In fact, the sting was surprisingly pleasant. The second was a little heavier against his plating and the third sharper still.

 

The next strike landed lower, connecting solidly with his valve and setting his sensors alight. He whined, arching his back, and Ratchet paused, tapping his fingers against Rung’s spine.

 

“Rung?” He said, when he didn’t react right away, “Are you forgetting something?”

 

“F-four…” His voice warbled, and he pressed his hips back, wordlessly offering up his valve for another strike. He wasn’t disappointed. Ratchet’s servo connected with his valve again, sending a stinging vibration through his array and making the lips of his valve ache. Again, he nearly forgot to count, but Ratchet was patient.

 

By the tenth strike, his valve was so sore, felt so swollen, but Rung reveled in the sensation, and Ratchet had to push him to his pedes when he didn’t remove himself from his lap right away.

 

He shuffled awkwardly to keep up with Ratchet as he strode across the room, the spreader bar keeping his legs open wide and his overheated, stinging valve and aft exposed to the relatively cooler air of the room. With the ache between his legs, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to walk normally if he tried, anyway.

 

Ratchet stopped them next to Drift, who’d been left tied up and gagged on the cushions they’d piled up on the floor where they left him. The medic gave them both a moment to admire each other. Drift’s face was flushed, and streaked with drool that escaped from between his lips stretched tight around the base of the new, solid gag, and his hips twitched helplessly, spike bobbing against his abdominal plating. A ring around the base kept him from overloading, thought it seemed he’d tried multiple times, judging by the amount of charge visibly crackling and dancing across his plating. A pair of clamps pinched his valve lips, heavy and weighted, pulling down on the tender lubricant soaked protomesh.

 

“He’s already so eager. The perfect pet. Why don’t we give him something to do?”

Ratchet pushed at his shoulder, and Rung followed the wordless instruction, laying down on the floor with his back arched up over his bound arms, grateful that the others had thought ahead to have him remove his backpack. Ratchet took the leash attached to his collar, and wound it through the ring on the middle of the spreader bar, pulling at it till Rung was bent near in half, ankles over his helm and valve on display. He gave the slick, puffy lips a stinging little slap before tugging on Drift’s leash, prompting pulling the bound speedster to roll over and crawl between Rung’s thighs.

 

Reaching between them, Ratchet pulled the gag from his mouth, the false spike sliding free with a wet pop from the back of his intake. Drift gasped, drawing in air and swallowing what little fluids hadn’t been smeared all over his face or stretched out between his lips and the spike.

 

He wasn’t given long to adjust before Ratchet wrapped a servo around the back of his helm and pressed down till his face was buried in Rung’s valve, rocking his helm back and forth a bit to grind his nasal ridge against the glowing cyan nub. Rung twisted, legs straining against the leash as he tried to squirm away from the almost overwhelming stimulation.

 

“Ah-bup-bup. Stay still, Rung.” Ratchet said, free servo pressing on the back of one of Rung’s trembling legs and pushing down just enough to effectively pin him in place.

 

The larger mech let go of Drift’s helm, and he used the newfound freedom to drag his glossa over the heated protomesh of his valve, suckling on the energon swollen lips, scraping his dentae over them. A vent of cool air had him arching up off the floor as best as he could, even as he squirmed, sensations warring in his sensor net. He couldn’t decide if he wanted more of the torturous touches, or an escape.

 

Drift didn’t give him a chance to decide, sealing his lips around his anterior node and sucking, hard. His vocalizer glitched with a squeal of feedback, and he bucked as another overload, already looming from Ratchet’s punishment, came rushing up on him. He fought to dump the heat building in his frame again, mouth hanging open, helm tilted back and unfocused optics pointed to the ceiling. His legs twitched and jerked, pulling at his leash, at the collar around his neck, while Drift continued to focus his attention on the throbbing nub of sensors, alternating between hard suction, gentle scrapes of his dentae, and teasing flicks of his glossa. It was enough to keep him on the edge, keep him guessing as to what would come next, without actually pushing him over. He was grateful for it, and furious in equal measures. The other mech _had_ to know what he was doing to him!

 

The sound of a panel retracting had him rolling his helm to the side. Ratchet had lowered himself to sit on the cushions next to them, and his spike extended into his waiting servo. The soft groan that slipped out of his vocalizer turned Rung’s insides to liquid, the heat pooling in his array climbing higher than he’d thought possible as the medic stroked his spike, optics locked on the pair in front of him.

 

“That’s good,” He rumbled, playing with his spike, twisting over the head and playing with the charge node glowing a steady, deep red. “Another chance, Rung, don’t overload till I tell you to. Understand?”

 

Rung nodded frantically, venting deep and purposefully, exhales shuddering out his vents in a puff of steamy air.

 

He couldn’t say how long Drift crouched between his trembling thighs, mouthing at his array, alternating between his exterior node, and the still sensitive folds of his valve, glossa darting in to lick at the nodes just inside the rim. He tried, and failed, to ignore the other mech in an effort to keep from overloading on the spot. Drift seemed to know when he was close, backing off just enough for him to gain control again.

 

As soon as he didn’t feel so out of control, Drift would dive back in again, gleefully revving him up once more.

 

“ _Hnng…_ Ratchet… _please…oh Primus!”_ Ratchet chuckled, engine giving a sharp rev at Rung’s sobbing pleas.

 

“Drift. Stop.” Drift whined, nosing at his valve, smearing lubricants but backing away as instructed to kneel with his helm bowed, vents wide open and fans running on high.

 

Rung relaxed, back straightening and legs going limp in their bonds, gasping for air with charge crackling in visible little streaks over his plating.

 

“Drift, down on the floor, let Rung see your valve.” Ratchet pushed himself to his knees, spike bobbing as he moved to kneel over Rung. He reached down with deceptively gentle servos and pressed to the corners of his mouth, urging him to open. As soon as his lips parted, Ratchet was quick with an open gag, a sized down version of the one Drift had been wearing.

 

Rung grunted, shocked at the sudden bite of cold steel behind his lips, glossa pushing against the weird thing and only succeeding in forcing the drool pooling in his mouth out to run down his chin. Ratchet spread the fluids around with his thumb, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

 

When he was satisfied that Rung was comfortable, he pressed a finger to his anterior node, the coils in the fingertip heating up and vibrating violently. Rung shrieked, the sound bubbling in the back of his throat as he squirmed. Ratchet chuckled, petting his wet folds and pulling away.

 

He kept his optics on Rung, panting and hiccupping, fans stuttering, while he crawled up behind the knight. Drift had dropped down until his face and shoulders were pressed into the cushions and his aft was hiked up in the air, whining and whimpering and canting his hips to try and entice the medic.

 

Ratchet grinned down at them, stroking Drift’s plating and leaning over to press a kiss to the center of his array. Drift’s moaning only got louder and more shameless, rocking back into the contact.

 

Ratchet pulled a box out of subspace, opening it pulling out a strange, organic egg shaped object. He held it up, rolling it between his fingers to show to Rung before making a show of teasing it into Drift’s valve. Rung moaned around the gag in his mouth at the sight of it stretching Drift’s valve wide open and then Ratchet popped it in with his thumb, and it was gone, valve rim snapping back into place after it passed through.

 

Drift shook, digging his helm into the cushions and whining while Ratchet pushed in more and more of them, and then followed the last one with a flared little plug that magnetized to his array. He gave the speedster a fond little pat on the aft, and reached around his side to fondle the little bulge in his abdominal plating. Drift squealed, spike twitching in what Rung guessed was another denied overload, and one finial ripped into a cushion, aft pushed up higher and back curved.

 

Ratchet removed his servos with a chuckle, rounding on Rung while he pulled more of the eggs from his subspace.

 

“You want some, sweetspark? Nice little toys, prototypes really. Brainstorm _is_ good for something other than explosions from time to time.” Rung nodded his helm frantically, optics still darting between the toy in Ratchet’s servo and Drift twitching and moaning and now rutting down against the cushions.

 

Two fingers pushed into his valve, scissoring and pulling at the pliant walls. He tried to stay still, he really did, but Ratchet had a gift for tagging all the best sensor nodes, and he couldn’t quite keep from squirming.

 

Ratchet just laughed, pulling his fingers free and showing Rung the strings of lubricant stretched between them.

 

“Look how wet you are for me, sweetspark. Just a few hits to your valve, and you’re already making a mess?” He didn’t wait for a response, pressing the sticky fingers into his mouth and wiping them off on his glossa. Rung tried to suck on them, to clean them off properly, but the o-ring stretching his mouth open wouldn’t let him, and Ratchet was content to use him like a cleaning cloth, pulling his digits free and wiping the oral fluids on his cheek.

 

He pushed up as best he could into the touch when Ratchet pressed one of those eggs against his valve rim, firm pressure pushing it in to it’s widest point and pausing. Rung whimpered, confused. Was he supposed to hold it there? He was scared if he clenched down on the strange shape it would be forced back out again, but the stretch was so much that he couldn’t _not_ do anything. Ratchet traced a finger around the stretched little ring of plates, and when Rung had relaxed back down into the cushions, he popped it the rest of the way in with a little push.

 

Rung gasped, clenching around the toy and feeling it shift inside him. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought, the initial twinge from the stretch already long gone. Although, with just one toy in his valve, he didn’t see the reason for the absolute fuss Drift was making. Hopefully Ratchet wouldn’t think him unprepared; he definitely wouldn’t mind a few more of these joining their mate.

 

“Nice, huh? And they’ve got a few extra little ‘features’ built in that only react once they’re inside a mech’s valve. Completely randomized, uncontrollable by outside sources.” Ratchet traced around his array, playing with the sheen of lubricants and tickling at the base of his spike.

 

Like it was waiting for that cue, the egg inside his valve suddenly dropped in temperature. Actually, dropped wasn’t the word he’d choose later, when his brain module came back from its sudden vacation. Free fall was a better word.

 

The chill in his valve wasn’t painful, but it was severely uncomfortable. Ratchet held up another egg, waving it in front of Rung’s face with a grin. Rung immediately changed his mind, optics wide as he shook his head, watching with dread as it was traced down his torso, up over the tip of his spike (and he flinched, even if it wasn’t cold yet, because he didn’t _trust_ those things now!) and pushed up against his valve.

 

“You know what to do if you really want to stop, Rung,” Ratchet reminded him, working another egg in after the first disappeared, “Until then, I’m just going to enjoy your begging. You and Drift both look so nice when you beg.” A fourth egg joined the others, and Ratchet accompanied its departure with another stinging slap over his valve, catching his node and sending a sharp charge racing over his sensor net, fire to contrast the ice inside his valve.

 

He lost count of the eggs, watching wide optiked as his plating started to bulge a bit around the intruders. With nowhere else to go, and Ratchet continuing to add more despite it, his overflow tank cycled open, and the full feeling abated a bit as many of the eggs where pulled up into the extra chamber.

 

Oh, but each one was setting off the one inserted after it, and they were all so _cold._

Once Ratchet was satisfied with the number of little toys in his valve, he did like he had with Drift, and plugged off his valve with a magnetic toy, and then reached up to pull out the gag.

 

“Much as I love seeing you drool all over yourself, I think I want to hear you begging me, now.” Rachet smoothed over the little indents left behind in the soft metal of his mouth, smearing oral fluids and transfluid further over his face.

 

“Ra- _ah­-_ atchet! _Please!_ ”

 

“Please what?”

 

“Take them _out_!” He knew he was whining, but he really didn’t care. The chill was almost unbearable; the nodes in his valve all firing off at random, confused by the drastic change in temperature.

 

“Hmm…no. No, I think I’d rather leave them in.” Ratchet settling one servo over his bulging plating, and _pushed_. It wasn’t a particularly heavy push, but it made the eggs all shift, rolling around pushing against his valve walls and overflow tank and oh it was just so… _weird._ He tried squirming out from under the touch, pushing himself backwards as best he could while tied up as he was. Ratchet let him, teasing at the retreating plating and flicking over his abused nub. When he got far enough Ratchet would have had to lean forward to keep teasing him, he grabbed the spreader bar to pull him back down.

 

“No, you stay right here.” He rubbed his servo over the bulge, rolling the eggs underneath his hand back and forth while Rung twitched and gasped and tried to hold still through the torment. His plating shook with the effort, rattling against his frame as he struggled with the obvious urge to try and escape. While he didn’t try crawling away again, he couldn’t stop the squirming.

 

“You should see yourself, all tied up and desperate. Can’t even hold still for me, can you?” Ratchet hummed, and a link to a video feed popped up in the corner of Rung’s H.U.D.

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised to see it was of him, from Ratchet’s point of view. He shouldn’t have been, but he was. He watched his own optics widen, flare, in response to the new input. Primus, he was a mess! Drool ran down the sides of his flushed face, adding to the layer already coating his plating. His valve was obscured by the flat base of the plug, but that didn’t stop lubricant from leaking out, staining his aft and soaking into the cushions.

 

Eventually, and Rung had no idea how long ‘eventually’ actually _was_ while he watched himself squirm and whine and beg for Ratchet to _please take them out_ , the toys started to warm again. He relaxed back into the cushions, actually enjoying the sensations of the toys shifting against each other at the pressure of the medic’s servo now that they were responding to his body head and thawing.

 

Except they _kept_ heating up, an upswing in temperature that tripped his nodes in another round of intense confusion. An overload ripped through his frame, valve rippling around the toys and shifting them up, pressing more of them into his overflow tank and leaving him gasping for air, fans shrieking.

 

Ratchet kept him pinned, one servo pushing down on his warped plating and shifting the mass inside while the other teased at his nub and spike, pinching and stroking them in turns so Rung was never sure what was coming. When he was finally still, save twitches in his shoulders and hips from stray charge, just whimpering and drooling on himself, allowing the medic to poke and prod and readjust as he pleased, Ratchet took pity on him.

 

“C’mon up here, there you go.” He undid the leash from the spreader bar, and removed the restraints from his legs before pulling him up to kneel over his lap, petting his sides and holding him steady as he wobbled. Drift crawled closer at Ratchet’s call, leaning his helm against his side and moaning when Ratchet pulled the magnetized plugs from both their valves at once. Rung was curious enough to tilt his head, the most he could manage to do with what little energy he had that wasn’t focused on his own overcharged systems. Drift was panting, little gasps for air that shouldn’t have sounded as sexy as they did while he tried to supplement his cooling systems. It was a futile effort, his helm cradled as it was against Ratchet’s hip and right next to his own interface array; there wasn’t cool air to be had.

 

“Rung, optics on me.” Ratchet turned his helm back with a servo on his cheek. When he was sure he’d gotten his attention, the servo on his face moved to his hip, holding him steady. “Go ahead and push them out for me. Take your time.”

 

Rung didn’t need to be told twice, bearing down on the weight that had started to shift lower in his pelvic cradle. The ones in his overflow tank rattled, jostling one another as they came down into the secondary valve. The one first one was relatively easy, as was the second, with the brief stretches as they popped out ramping his charge up. He’d managed to push out quite a few into a sticky pile between Ratchet’s legs when one shifted as it was pushing out between the lips of his valve.

 

It was… _oh slag_ , it was growing! Rung twisted, trying to look down, swearing the thing was getting larger as it lodged itself less than halfway out of his valve. His rim kept stretching; the egg growing slowly enough the new girth could be accommodated. He shifted, widening his stance and sinking down lower into Ratchet’s lap. The medic didn’t seem at all concerned, one servo stroking his own spike while the other reached up to tug at his stretched valve lips, tracing the rim and making him shiver at the strange sensations.

 

It quickly became an _unwelcome_ sensation, when Ratchet’s fingers brushed the tip of the egg peeking out from between his folds, and the little big of pressure was enough to push the egg back inside. It bumped up against the egg shifting sizes behind it, and the growth continued while the temperature dropped.

 

Rung had no words, mind a blank. His valve was filled with the ice cold again, but this time, the eggs were cycling up, all growing at different rates, stretching his valve wider, pressing their cold surfaces up against sensor nodes that had until that point been buffered by his valve lining. He knew he shrieked, whined, cried, all but begged (and the only reason he didn’t was because words refused to exist at the moment, or he would have.) as Ratchet stroked his plating with one servo and held his hip with the other, keeping him from wriggling out of reach.

 

Unable to retreat, he let himself slump down, back bowed and helm resting over Ratchet’s windshield, mouth open and drool gathering under his cheek on the glass. His breath fogged and disappeared in time with his venting as slowly, ever so slowly, the temperature started to climb, and the size became more manageable. Legs shaking and servos drumming an erratic beat on Ratchet’s shoulders, he pushed himself up a bit and bore down on the egg that had caused him all these problems. The servo on his hip shifted, fingers tracing along the rim of his valve, and Ratchet’s optics dimmed as he presumably focused on the feel of his platelets stretching thin under his fingers, and the chill of the still cool egg as the widest point of it passed through. It tumbled down to land in the pile with the others, and three more followed one after the other, while his valve was still stretched out from the larger forms.

 

He mouthed along the edge of Ratchet’s chest plate, begging without words and whimpering in the back of his vocalizer as his hips twitched up into Ratchet’s touch.

 

The medic got the message, tweaking his node and giving it a smart little slap that stung so nicely, the warmth diffusing into his chilled array.

 

“You can overload now Rung, as many times as you need.”

 

Like a switch was flipped, his valve contracted, charge gathering and releasing in a burst that nearly caught Ratchet’s fingers as he pulled them away. The flood of post overload bliss that swamped his systems let him push out another handful of the still shrinking eggs. He hadn’t even tried to count as they came, and looked down between their frames at the growing pile, glistening with lubricants and looking so harmless.

The last of the eggs slid down into his valve, and popped free in a rush, aided by the ripple of his calipers; that stretch tripped another overload right on the heels of the first. Or extended the one he was already caught up in. All he knew was the press of Ratchet’s servo over his tender plating, the servo between his thighs spreading lubricant over his valve lips, up his spike, across his hips.

 

For a long moment, he was senseless, unaware of anything but the pulse of his spark felt in all his extremities, and most importantly, in his valve. He only came back to awareness when he was repositioned, Ratchet turning him effortlessly to face away. Drift had moved as well, kneeling in front of him, face flushed clear up to the tips of his finials, lubricants streaking his thighs and oral fluids his face and neck and chest. He leaned in for a kiss, glossa tracing over his lips until he opened.

 

While he was focused on Drift’s sweet kisses, Ratchet lowered him onto his spike, a slow, steady pace that belied his strength, and the true lack of weight in his own frame. Breaking off the kiss, he moaned and buried his face in Drift’s slick neck cables.

 

Ratchet’s servos tightened on his hips again, lifting him up and letting his own weight pull him back down while he grabbed the leash that had been flung over Rung’s shoulder between his dentae and pulled just enough to encourage him to straighten up, and to place pressure on his throat and disrupt the flow of energon to his helm.

 

“Oh Rung, you look amazing like that.” Drift groaned, walking backwards on his knees till he could lean forward and swipe his sinful glossa over his anterior node when he was lowered again.

 

“He does, doesn’t he? And look, Drift. He’s the perfect size to warm our spikes, see?” The frission of heat that speared through his tank shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, and Rung bit his lip, optics off and mind running a mile a minute to try and come up with something, anything, to distract him from the strong servos lifting and lowering him like he was just a toy, a place for Ratchet to put his spike. He onlined his optics, and all that work went to waste as he saw his plating, still slightly distended from the eggs, shift as Ratchet's spike pounded into him at a pace that left Rung speechless.

 

“C’mon Ratch, don’t leave me hanging over here, aren’t you going to share?” Drift complained, continuing to touch any part of Rung’s array he could with his glossa, chasing after the glowing node, suckling swollen mesh lips into his mouth only to have them pulled away nearly instantly.

 

“Even with the collar on, you’re mouthy.” Ratchet sighed, still bouncing Rung on his lap, not missing a beat while he spoke with Drift.

 

“ _Please_ , Ratch, please?” He pulled away, and Rung groaned, reaching out with his field when he couldn’t with his hands, trying to entice Drift back to what he was doing.

 

“Lay down.” The order was obeyed instantaneously, Drift flopping back onto the floor despite the obstacle of his servos bound behind his back, thighs falling open provocatively. Ratchet leaned forward, lowering Rung to press belly to belly with Drift, his spike rubbing against Drift’s abdominal armor, Drift’s spike rubbing in the crease of his thigh, butting up against Ratchet’s spike still in his valve from time to time as he humped up against him and let out a constant, unending stream of babble.

 

He felt the tension on his arms relax, and realized as the limp appendages dropped to Drift’s chest plate that Ratchet had undone his bindings. Fingers tensing and curling on the edge of Drift’s plating were as much a way to restore circulation as they were a way of getting the swordsmech’s attention while he was still babbling away.

 

“Oh _slag_ , Ratchet, _please, please_ can I overload?”

 

“I don’t know, Drift. I was thinking we see how far his valve can stretch.” It infuriated Rung, how calm and level helmed Ratchet could sound as he was pistoning his hips, plating clanging against Rung’s aft with every thrust.

 

Then a finger traced the edge of his valve again, pressing in with the sting of a stretch beyond normal parameters.

 

He didn’t have time to complain, as the vibrating coils in that finger switched on and he arched up, howling through another overload.

 

Drift wasn’t far behind, gasping and begging.

 

“We’ll talk about it for next time, then.” He pulled his finger free with a pop, patting Rung’s aft apologetically, and chasing down his own overload. Ratchet leaned over him, one servo wrapping around his throat, the other sneaking between his legs. He was admittedly a little surprised when Ratchet bypassed his array for Drift’s, but it made sense when he tossed the charge ring away to the side, and Drift rose up under him, lifting his knees off the ground from where they laid on either side of Drift’s hips.

 

Ratchet gripped his throat tight, flexing his fingers and biting his audial.

 

“One more time, Rung, overload for me.”

 

“I-I can’t Ratchet.” He moaned, slumped down and hiding his face in Drift’s armor, body limp and riding up Drift’s front with every hard thrust, surely leaving paint transfers the entire time.

 

A servo snuck between his thighs again, this one Drift’s. The swordsmech was half blissed out, but he focused on Rung, rubbing his node and carefully stretching his valve out around Ratchet’s spike. Charge built, slower and more reluctantly this time, and Rung knew he’d have to safeword out after this one if they weren’t satisfied. The overload built in fits and spurts, sudden shocks of pleasure rising and falling behind his pelvic array.

 

“I know you can do this for me Rung. Come on, overload.” He nipped at the tip of his antennae, sucking the thin bit of metal into his mouth and scraping his teeth over it.

 

“Ratchet, I-“ His frame seized, shaking in the throes of a sudden, final burst of electrical current.

 

When he rebooted, he was nestled between two large, heated frames, surrounded by the smell of ozone, and the sound of metal ticking and popping. The inside of his thigh stung a bit, and he couldn’t see to check, but he’d bet there would be a scorch mark where it ached, a sure sign of Drift’s overload, which must have been incredible after how long he was kept on the edge.

 

“You okay, Rung?” Ratchet asked from behind him, mouth pressed up to his audial in an effort to not wake the swordsmech curled up against Rung’s front without resorting to comms.

 

His first instinct was to praise Ratchet and Drift, to reassure them he was perfectly fine, but it wasn’t doing anyone any favors, and so he took his time. A complete systems check only took a few minutes, and they lay in the soft silence without complaint. He was glad when the scan came back without any major hits, just a warning about redirected energon flow to the valve array, and a small dent in his aft plating that he could guilt Ratchet into fixing later.

 

“More than okay.” He grinned, finding that he meant every word. His frame _ached_ and he could still feel his pulse in every inch of himself, but it was a good sort of feeling, he thought. Drift in front of him twitched and scrunched his face up, slapping a lazy servo over his mouth.

 

“Rung happy. Sleep now. Shhhh…” Rung giggled, licking at the palm over his mouth, and content to curl up as much as the space allowed.

 

::We’ll talk about everything after a nap, is that okay? I feel fine.:: He sent over comms, soaking up the warmth surrounding him as secondary systems powered down.

 

::Soon as we wake up. Not a minute later.::

 

::Of course, doctor. I want to keep up to date on my treatment plan, after all.::

 

::Cheeky fragger. Go to recharge.::


End file.
